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THE  GOLD 


BESSIE  L.  RUSSELL 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 
1912 


COPYHIGHT,  1912 
SHEHMAX,  FREXCH  &  COMPANY 


TO 

MY  HUSBAND 
WHITFIELD  RUSSELL 


For  permission  to  reprint  some 
of  these  poems,  thanks  are  due 
The  Outlook  and  other  magazines. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  GOLD 1 

RAIN  ON  THE  FARM 9 

THE  CALL 10 

AFTER  THE   STORM 11 

WINTER 12 

DARING 13 

VISIONS 14 

MIST  OF  THE  SEA 15 

SUMMER 16 

REVERIE 17 

MY  QUEST 19 

CALL  OF   THE   WOODS 20 

SPRING 21 

THE  SHELL 22 

TO  THE  SEA  GULLS 23 

RAIN    IN   THE   CITY 24 

THE  MERMAID'S  SONG 25 

SONGS  OF  THE  ALPS 

RIGI   AT  SUNSET 29 

LAKE    LUCERNE 30 

PASSING  WILLIAM  TELL'S  CHAPEL   ...  32 

CHILLON 33 

JUNGFRAU 34 

INTERLAKEN  35 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TO  A  TYROL  CRUCIFIX 36 

THE  HARVEST 38 

THE    RETURN 39 

THE  UNIVERSAL  NOTE 40 

WHEN  POETRY  WAS  BORN 41 

WALTER  PATER  TO   A  BEE 43 

SORROW 44 

WATCHING  ANOTHER  GLEAN 45 

LOVE    RESURRECTED 46 

LAST  NIGHT .     .  47 

THEN— AND  NOW 48 

FAITH 49 

HOPE 50 

CHARITY 51 

THE   AWAKENING 52 

RESURGAM 63 

UNREQUITED 54 

SONGS  OF  THE  NORTH 

INDIAN  LULLABY 57 

DESTINY 58 

AN  INDIAN  LOVE  SONG 59 

THE   POET    .  60 


THE  GOLD 

A  DRAMATIC  POEM 


CHARACTERS 

ELIZABETH,  a  society  girl 
EVELYN,  Elizabeth's  friend 
JOSEPHINE,  Elizabeth's  maid 

SCENE 

St.  Louis  drawing  room  and  Forest  Park 

TIME 

The  present 


THE  GOLD 

ELIZABETH.     Open    the    door,    the    window 

there, 

I  suffocate  for  want  of  air, 
Yes,  yes,  and  let  the  breezes  blow, 
What  matters  it  if  damp  or  dry ! 
Josephine,  my  mail ! 

What,  not  a  line  ? 
Why,  that  I  can't  believe. 
If  it's  not  asking  over  much, 
I  pray  you  look  again. 

(Soliloquizes) 

But  why  should  I  for  letters  sigh? 
Are  they  not  the  breath  of  men? 
And  men  are  to  me  most  wearisome. 

JOSEPHINE.     It  is,  alas,  as  I  have  said, 
There  are  no  letters,  but  here's  Miss  Evelyn. 

ELIZABETH.     Ah,    welcome,    doubly    so,    my 

dear, 

I've  a  case  of  the  "blues,"  I  fear, 
Come  close  and  give  me  of  your  thought, 
It  seems  as  if  I  were  distraught. 

EVELYN.     Then  let  me  read.     What  shall  it 

be? 
History  or  philosophy? 

ELIZABETH.     History  ? 
What's  history  but  the  record  of 

[1] 


A  million  lives  all  like  my  own, 
Of  love  and  hate  and  life  and  death, 
Of  successes  won  and  failures  made ; 
Of  maids  that  loved  and  lived  and  ran 
Their  little  lives  along  with  men. 
Of  wars — Oh  cruel — think  not  on't — 
Sweet  Evelyn,  History?     Avaunt. 

EVELYN.     Then,  my  dear  Girl,  Philosophy — 
German  or  French,  which  shall  I  read? 

ELIZABETH.     Philosophy?    Why  who  is  wise ? 
Philosophers  themselves  disguise 
Their  real  feelings  in  a  cloak, 
Philosophy  gives  us  no  hope. 
'Tis  this  they  say,  because  'tis  this, 
'Tis  that,  because  'tis  that. 
Can  you  from  French  or  German  men 
Glean  one  true  thought  to  help  one  on? 
I  mean  to  help  undo  the  stress 
We  live  in,  Evelyn. 

EVELYN.     But  great  men  on  Philosophy  do 

lean, 
It  is  their  staff,  their  prop. 

ELIZABETH.     Then  lame  are  they,  and  weak 

the  prop. 

Besides  says  one  that  life  is  joy, 
Another  that  it's  all  alloy. 
They  never  can  themselves  agree, 
I'll  make  my  own  Philosophy. 


EVELYN.     I  fear,  like  Hamlet,  you  are  much 

mad, 

Pray  leave  off  learning;  let's  for  a  drive, 
The  Park  is  joyous  at  this  hour. 
What  say  you,  Elizabeth? 

ELIZABETH.     The  Park  then,  dear,  but  not  to 

drive, 
'Tis  walking  in  the  Park  I  crave. 

(To  maid) 

Hand  me  my  glass,  my  brush.     My  hair 
Is  looking  awkward  at  this  hour. 
And  put  on  me,  my  dark  blue  coat, 
The  hat  to  match  and  gloves  to  suit. 

(Later,  in  Forest  Park) 

ELIZABETH.     I  am  so  weary  of  the  flattering 
throng 

Of  people.     Oh,  for  me  to  find 

The  road  to  Somewhere ! 

I  feel  like  birch  bark  set  afloat 

With  paddle  none.     I  feel  as  if 

The  waters  swift  keep  me  adrift. 

I  cannot  turn  this  way,  nor  that 

Without  my  being  quite  upset. 

And  oh,  the  ball  last  night  was  tame, 

It's  men  and  women  all  inane. 

And  yet  I  am  but  twenty-seven ; 

'Tis  time  enough  for  taste  of  Heaven. 

EVELYN.     Pray,  leave  off  reverie,  my  dear, 

And  note  the  colors  in  this  flower ; 
[3] 


Can  you  seek  far  and  seek  in  vain 
For  Happiness? 

ELIZABETH.   But  flowers  fade.   They  wither — 

pine — 
What  think  you  now,  oh,  Evelyn? 

EVELYN.     Somehow,  somewhere,  I  dimly  feel 
There  is  a  Power  behind  the  flowers. 
They  come  all  silently  and  go 
As  if  a  wand  had  waved  it  so ; 
They  give  to  life  such  passing  sweet, 
And  may  not  we,  my  dear  friend,  meet 
What  e'er  that  comes  as  if  we,  too, 
Were  ushered  here  by  unseen  Power? 
I  grant  you,  though,  it's  mystery  great. 

ELIZABETH.     Why,  that  is  Truth! 
And  how  all  men  of  every  clime 
Unconsciously  revere  the  name. 
It  was  before  the  stars  were  born, 
When  mountains  were  unknown,  unformed, 
And  seas  and  lakes  alike  all  dry. 
Truth  was  the  force  on  earth,  in  sky ; 
It  made  all  things  that  e'er  were  made, 
It  changes  not  in  any  age. 
Ah,  sometimes,  Evelyn,  'tis  I 
Could  love  this  Truth— 
And  yet,  again,  I  could  not,  for 
'Tis  Principle  correct  arid  sure — 
Can  woman  love  mere  Principle? 


[4] 


EVELYN.     Again,   my   dear,   in  waters   deep 

you  are  submerged. 
Listen,  can  you  hear  the  violin? 

ELIZABETH.     How  like  the  human  voice. 
I  think  'tis  like  Lorenzo's. 

EVELYN.     But  Lorenzo,  you  have  not  seen  in 

many  a  day. 
I  pray  you,  shall  we  listen,  stay? 

ELIZABETH.     Yes,   'neath  this  tree  I'll  hear 

him  play. 

Ah,  listen  how  the  notes  do  fall. 
And  hushed  is  e'en  the  robin's  call. 
'Tis  music  quiets  nervous  fear, 
And  brings  to  bowed  down  spirits  cheer. 
Already  I  am  merging  out 
Of  brooding  thoughts  and  all  about 
Me  seems  so  changed.     What  say  you  of  it? 
Does  Music  hold  you  in  a  trance, 
Do  fairies,  nymphs  poetic  dance 
Before  you,  Evelyn? 

EVELYN.     Yes,  Music's  rare  enchantress  ;  she 
Gives  of  her  magic  and  we  see 
A  world  of  visions  glad  and  free. 
The  man  who  sings  touches  the  heart, 
May  we  not  say  the  same  of  Art? 

ELIZABETH.     Why,  yes,  Art  has  helped  man 

to  feel 

The  nobler  things,  but  Art  does  steal 
From  Nature. 

[5] 


EVELYN.     What's  that  you  say 
Of  artists,  pray? 

ELIZABETH.     Do  you  think  any  artist  born 
Can  get  one  stroke  to  paint  the  sun? 
As  evening  nears,  it  fades,  and  lo, 
Wraps  'round  itself  a  rosy  glow. 
Do  you  see  on  a  canvas  fine 
One  tree  of  birch,  like  this,  or  pine? 
Can  you  run  race  with  Nature  and 
Not  find  yourself  by  far  outdone? 
Take  any  Madonna  that  man  reveres, 
And  place  it  beside  yon  mother  there, 
That  youthful  one  with  babe  in  arms ; 
Note  the  rare  beauty  of  face  and  form. 
Were  e'er  such  eyes  on  canvas?     Nay — 
Yet  men  will  travel  for  miles  away, 
To  rave  o'er  Art  in  galleries. 

— But  to  return  to  Lorenzo ! 
Know  you  not,  dear,  that  once  to  me 
That  man  was  all,  was  earth  and  sea 
And  stars  and  clouds  and  zephyrs  free, 
I  lived  upon  his  smile,  and  he — 
But  hush,  I  think  he  comes. 
But  no,  'tis  but  a  musician  lone, 
Who  loves  through  wooded  paths  to  roam. 
How  strangely  moved  his  music  me, 
No,  not  Lorenzo  now  I'd  see — 
/  seem  just  satisfied  to  be. 


[6] 


The  love  I  had  for  that  one  then, 

Seems  now  to  have  been  but  fancy,  Friend. 

A  narrow  thing  that  sort  of  love, 

By  springs  of  selfishness  it's  fed. 

An  unselfed  Love  that  reaches  out 

To  every  creature,  that  is  Love ! 

That  seeks  to  lift  the  sick  and  poor, 

The  infant  left  beside  our  door, 

Despising  not  the  prison  grim, 

Whose  men  are  weak  and  worn  with  sin, 

That  feels  itself  one  beam  to  be, 

Of  that  great  Sun,  Divinity. 

Ah,  Love,  dear  heart,  like  this  is  best, 

It  quiets  all  that  strange  unrest, 

I  feel  no  more  like  one  adrift, 

Search  I  no  more ;  one  tiny  nook 

Will  me  most  satisfy. 

What  is  the  learning  of  the  seers, 

Compared  with  Love  adown  the  years — 

Quickener  of  Life,  of  Death  the  door 

That  opens  to  a  Morrow  fair? 

Let  us  our  steps  toward  home  retrace. 

Each  tree  to  me,  each  flower  has  grace, 

Now,  now  that  I  have  felt  and  know 

'Twas  Love  I  sought.     Is  it  not  so? 

EVELYN.     But   do   you    think   the   day   will 

dawn 
When  every  path  will  Love  illume  ? 


ELIZABETH.     It  must   be.     'Tis   of  life   the 

soul. 

Of  every  creature  'tis  the  goal. 
We're  reaching  for  it,  one  and  all — 
Love's  Love;  Love's  the  Savior  of  the  World. 


[8] 


RAIN  ON  THE  FARM 

LIKE  pearls  of  thought  at  first  they  come, 
The  tiny  raindrops  one  by  one. 

The  grasses  all  themselves  bestir 

To  catch  the  breath  of  incense  pure. 

Then  grown  to  quite  an  army  strong, 

The  raindrops  form  a  mighty  throng, 

And  trees   dust  laden  thankful  blow 
And  cattle  in  the  cow  shed  low. 

The   farmer's   wife  in   homely   gown, 

Half    sleep,    half    wake,    pulls    window 
down, 

Then  falls  again  to  slumber  sweet-^- 

Lulled  by  the  raindrop's  shuffling  feet. 


[9] 


THE  CALL 

FAME  beckoned  me  with  arms  stretched  wide, 

Me  on  the  hillside  green ; 
And  I  saw  in  a  vision  the  crowded  marts, 

Where  my  wares  had  never  been. 

I  felt  ambition  tugging  hard, 

There  in  the  drowsy  clover, 
And  I  said,  "Ah  me,  these  quiet  hours 

Will  soon,  alas,  be  over." 

But  a  bird  aslant  on  a  bending  bough 
Sang  a  chirp  in  my  ear  just  then — 

And  I  heard  no  more  Fame  calling  me 
To  join  the  ranks  of  men. 


[10] 


AFTER  THE  STORM 

THE  lurid  lightning  shivering  fine, 

Sped  reckless  on.     The  mountain  pine 

Bowed  low  in  terror,  whilst  the  stream 
Swelled  angry,  white  with  foam. 

One  moment  more,  the  storm  had  passed; 

The   lightning  ceased — all  nature   gasped 
For  joy;  the  coward  moon  stole  out, 

And  clouds  did  scattering  go. 

And  tree  and  shrub  and  clambering  thing 
Looked  smiling  up  at  life  again, 

While  forth  in  gladsome  tone  did  peal 
God's  voice  in  a  lone  bird's  note. 


[11] 


WINTER 

HAIL.,  Winter  dear,  for  kind  you  be 

To  cover  every  naked  tree 

With  gorgeous  gown  so  fair  to  see. 

There  is  no  modiste  'neath  the  sun 
Could  garment  fashion  quite  so  fine. 
Of  wondrous  stuff  your  gown  is  spun 

For  sheen  is  there  and  shadow  too, 
And  diamond  things  that  pendant  glue 
Like  costly  fringe  to  gown  of  you. 

And  shrubs  as  well  as  trees  once  bare, 
Do  proudly  all  their  snow  gowns  wear 
And  meet  the  questioning  worldling's  stare, 

As  if  to  say  that  here  is  wrought 

A  miracle  in  very  truth — 

And  all's  transformed  by  winter's  breath. 

Ah,  Winter,  there  are  none  should  rue 
The  Summer's  death  when  one  can  do 
Such  wonders  in  a  night  as  you. 


DARING 

A  CLUMP  of  pines  and  birches  clustering  close, 
One   lonely    pine   that   towers    above   the   rest. 
A  mass  of  men  held  in  convention's  bounds, 
One  soul  that  dares,  outstrips  and  gets  life's 
best. 


[13] 


VISIONS 

I  HEAR  the  call  of  to-morrow 

Past  the  pink  horizon  there, 
I  smile  at  the  hope  it  awakens 

And  I'd  willingly  do  and  dare, 
But  for  visions  that  come  before  me — 

Those  visions  I  cannot  gainsay — 
Of  the  loves  and  the  hopes  all  thwarted 

That  grew  in  yesterday. 


[14] 


MIST  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  mist  unbidden  creeps  up  from  the  sea, 
And  lights  along  the  shore  are  hidden  quite ; 

So  dallying  Folly  with  her  hand  does  sway 
Stern  purpose  from  the  right. 


[15] 


SUMMER 

"TWITTER,  twitter,  twitter,"  said  the  swallow 

to  the  sparrow, 
"Too  wit,  too  wit,  too  wee,"  was  echoed 

round 

In  the  vastness  of  the  shrubs  and  trees, 
With  every  little  lilting  breeze, 

And  oh,  the  gladsome  spring  had  summer 
found ! 


[16] 


REVERIE 

WAS  I  created  of  the  sun 

Once  in  the  ages  long,  long  gone 
That  I  so  love  the  ball  of  fire — 

Was  I  the  fruit  of  the  sun's  desire? 

Or  did  I  with  Diana  rove; 

Was  I  the  ch'ild  of  Endymion  love? 
The  sun — the  moon — in  ecstasy 

I  love — ah,  what  this  mystery? 

Mayhap  some  ancient  oak  bore  me 

To  dwell  in  human  form,  not  tree, 

For  I  would  spare  them,  every  one 
And  love  each  tree  as  if  my  own. 

But  flowers,  too,  have  for  me  charm ; 

I  feel  each  petal  gently  warm 
My  breast  as  if  a  mother  dear 

Were  nestling  me  so  close  to  her. 

Ah,  yes  it  is  of  each  I'm  made, 

I  am  the  light,  I  am  the  shade, 

And  only  live  in  human  frame 

That  I  may  give  it  all  again — 


[17] 


To  men,  the  light  of  noonday  sun, 

The  tender  thoughts  that  moonbeams 
bring, 

And  shade  of  trees  in  sultry  street, 

And  flowers'  breath  for  ages  sweet. 


[18] 


MY  QUEST 

I  SEARCHED  for  love  in  heart  of  city's  hum ; 
I  searched  for  love  upon  the  shining  sand 
Of  ocean  beach ;  and  then  on  towering  cliffs  I 

sung 
A  pleading  song  that  love  unto  my  heart  might 

come — 

But  love  came  not. 

I  searched  for  love  no  more,  but  labored  sore 
To  ease  those  hearts  whom  sorrow'd  touched 

before ; 

Faint  hope  that  in  sweet  work  I'd  surely  find 
Some  compensation  for  a  fate  unkind — 
When  lo !  love  came. 


[19] 


CALL  OF  THE  WOODS 

I  SEE  you  where  the  grasses  are, 

My  loved  one  of  the  earth  and  air ; 

Your  lips  on  mine  you  fondly  press, 
Your  very  eyes  wave  a  caress, 
I'm  longing  for  you  once  again, 
Beloved  One. 

The   smell   of  pines   breathes   from   you  Dear, 
The  waters  too;  I  clearly  hear 

The  splash  of  oar  and  paddle  light 

Through  all  the  long,  long  day's  delight 
When  leaves  are  turning  red  and  brown, 
Beloved  One. 

How  long  can  I  resist  it  all, 

Your  deep  insistent  ringing  call. 

From  every  rock  and  crag  and  tree, 
In  every  breeze  that  blows  to  me 
I  seem  to  hear,  "Ah,  haste  you,  come," — 
Beloved  One.  s 


[20] 


SPRING 

I  THOUGHT  the  grass  forever  dead, 
So  deep  the  snow  his  mantle  spread, 
But  on  a  morn  I  chanced  to  see 
A  tiny  blade  creep  through  to  me ! 

I   thought  your  love  another'd  gained- 
So  long  the  silence  and  the  pain — 
But  on  a  morn  I  chanced  to  see 
Spring  coming  in  your  smile  to  me ! 


THE  SHELL 

How  could  I  know  the  tiny  shell 

I  flung  upon  the  shore, 
Could  hold  the  whole  of  ocean  wide 

With  its  deep  sounding  roar. 

How  could  I  know  the  heart  I  loved, 
Then  dropped  without  a  thought, 

Could  hold  all  life  and  love  and  death 
With  their  rare  meanings  fraught. 

But  years  gone  by,  another  shell 

I  find  beside  the  sea; 
I  hear  its  sad,  incessant  moan, 

I  hear  her  cry  to  me. 


[22] 


TO  THE  SEA  GULLS 

(The  ancients  believed  the  gulls  were  ever  div- 
ing into  the  sea  for  some  lost  object.) 

WHY  do  you  circle  the  prow  around 
Of  vessel  that  cuts  the  surging  sea; 
Why  does  your  note  so  plaintive  sound 
So  full  of  unrest  and  misery? 

Oh,  'tis  not  for  fish  you  downward  sweep, 
For  that  alone  were  not  worth  while ; 
Something  you've  lost — your  spirits  droop, 
Like  man  in  searching  the  days  beguile. 

And  ever  and  ever  you  circle  and  coo, 
And  ever  and  ever  man   speculates  on ; 
No  nearer  the  end  of  your  quest  are  you, 
For  the  lost  are  lost  to  gulls  and  man. 


[23] 


RAIN  IN  THE  CITY 

A  MURKY  night  all  filled  with  thoughts  of  rain, 
A  cloud  of  smoke  with  wind  in  battle  vain, 
Lights  swinging  from  great  poles,  and  clatter- 
ing by 
A  car  belated — with  its  clanging  cry, 

And  rows   and   rows  of  houses   still  within — 
Like  some  great,  subtle,  ponderous,  hidden  sin. 
A  straggler  hurries  with  his  coat  upturned, 
And  strives  in  vain  to  light  his  pipe  unburned. 

Lo,  now,  the  wind  all  breathless  pauses  sore, 
While  rain  in  sheets   and  torrents  down  does 

pour, 

No  hint  of  dawn  the  hurrying  straggler  meets, 
But  floods  and  floods  on  mundane  city  streets. 


THE  MERMAID'S  SONG 

; 

IN  eons  gone  I  was  a  maid  most  fair, 
Wind   tossed   my   yellow  hair. 

I  sylph-like  sought  the  sea's  great  shore 
And  lingered  loving  there. 

For  I  was  scanning  the  horizon  far 

For  one  bright  beaming  star 
And  that  one  star  to  be  to  me 

For  all  eternity. 

I  was  a  maiden  and  I  loved  a  star 

And  waited  for  him  there. 
Each  night  I  waited  by  the  silvery  sea 

And  lo,  he  fell  to  me. 

But  in  the  awful  fall  through  space, 

Of  him  I  lost  all  trace. 
I  longed,  I  prayed  his  face  to  see 

But  no  smile  greeted  me. 

And  then  t'was  morn  and  I  could  plainly  tell 

The  stars  had  vanished  well, 
And  I  did  mourn  and  tear  my  yellow  hair, 

That  hair  of  me  most  fair. 


[25] 


But  as  in  joy,  no  smile  can  last  alway, 

So  sorrow  passed  away. 
I  heard  in  limpid  depths  of  green  and  gray 

A  hundred  creatures  say, 

"Come,  come,  fair  maid,  to  ocean  caverns  sweet. 

To  mourn,  it  is  not  meet." 
So  I  descended  through  no  will  my  own 

To  coral  reefs,  my  home. 

And  that  was  eons  gone  but  still  I  say, 

I  love  my  star  to-day. 
Would  I  could  be  on  yon  earth  once  more, 

My  gaze  to  heaven  soar. 

But  I  must  ever  with  these  creatures  move, 

Mermaid  no  star  could  love, 
And  so  I  must  my  lot  all  bravely  bear ; 

My  sobs  you  hear,  you  hear 

In  every  wind  that  whistles  through  the  mast 

Of  schooner  drifting  past ; 
You  hear  them  in  the  sobbing  of  the  sea, 

And  loud  or  tearfully. 


[26] 


SONGS  OF  THE  ALPS 


RIGI  AT  SUNSET 

ABOVE  a  mass  of  snow  and  ice  and  streams, 
All  colorless  save  for  the  rosy  glow 

The  parting  sunbeams  generously  throw. 

Below  the  pines  with  age  all  sombre  grown, 
And  clasping  close  the  lake  of  azure  sheen 
Like  one  who's  old  and  clings  to  lover's 
dream. 

No  sound  disturbs  the  perfect  peace  save  one, 
The  tinkle  of  the  chamois'  bell  full  sweet, 
And  call  of  herdsman  following  close  its 
feet. 


[29] 


LAKE  LUCERNE 

You  are  the  sapphire  blue, 

With  depths  that  mirror  true; 

You  are  a  woman's  eyes, 
Wherein  a  shadow  lies. 

You  are  the  bird's  delight, 

When  quivering  low  from  fright ; 
You  are  the  solace  of  souls, 

When  thundering  echoes  roll. 

You  were  when  Csesar  came, 

You  saw  Napoleon  too ; 
You  let  no  battle's  blood. 

Change  the  deep  blue  of  you. 

You  saw  a  handful  of  men 
Fight  for  a  liberty  dear; 

You  saw  Helvetia  win, 

Dauntless,  and  free  from  fear. 

Guarded  by  sentinels  true, 

The  Alps  in  uniform  white, 

None  may  your  waters  pollute, 

No  vandals  intrude  in  the  night. 


[30] 


You  are  the  artist's  fancy, 
In  nature's  gallery  rare; 

You  are  the  poet's  classic 

He  puts  into  meter  fair. 

You  will  be  here  forever, 

To  chasten  and  soften,  subdue 
The  storms   of  tempestuous  passion, 

With  your  deep  quieting  blue. 


[31] 


WHAT  need  has  man  of  monument 
When  pilgrims  far  and  wide 
Do  yearly  come  to  worship  at 
His  shrine. 

Embossed  ornate  in  memory's  book 
One  name  the  Swiss  revere. 

They  travel  as  to  patron  saints 
To  chapel  dear. 

Ah,  Switzerland  can  ne'er  forget 
His  deeds  of  prowess  fine, 

And  feeble  then  a  traveler's  praise 
Of  that  brave  man. 

So  gliding  reverently  by 
On  Lucerne's  waters  still, 

I  touch  sweet,  sacred  memories 
Of  William  Tell. 


[32] 


CHILLON 

CHILLON,  you  are  an  ugly  stone 
Set  in  a  wreath  of  pearls , 

An  awful,  yawning,  evil  eye, 

That  once  did  horrors  hurl. 

You  the  hobgoblin  wrung  from  fate, 
To  scare  the  sons  of  men ; 

You  the  great  awful  darkening  pit, 
For  men  in  ages  gone. 

Nestled  near  waters  pure  and  blue, 
Fanned  by  the  mountain  breeze, 

How  did  you  dare  to  suffering  wreak, 
And  men  by  torture  craze? 

Ah  yes,  Chillon,  you  did  your  worst, 
But  your  eye  has  lost  its  power; 

And  men  no  longer  tremble  now, 
At  you  all  fearful  cower. 

Chillon,  you  are  a  stone  worn  thin, 
A  memory  dark  and  drear, 

A  musty  creepy  ruin  old, 

In  a  setting  divinely  fair. 


[33] 


JUNGFRAU 

(YOUNG  WOMAN) 

IN    virgin    white,    Jungfrau,    you    rear    your 

head, 

For  centuries  thus  queenly  and  thus  unafraid, 
A  saint — men  contrite  at  your  shrine  have 

prayed. 

Chaste  work  of  God,  Jungfrau,  yet  can  it  be 
That  you  are  cold,  unfeeling,  can  not  see 
One  smallest  tithe  of  mortal's  misery? 

Nay,  nay,  fair  Jungfrau,  vanish  all  my  fears ; 
The  coldest  woman's  not  as  cold  as  she  appears ; 
Last  night  I  saw  you  in  a  mist  of  tears. 


INTERLAKEN 

INTERLAKEN,  winsome  maiden, 

I  have  sought  you  everywhere; 
On  the  heights  and  in  the  depths, 
Where  the  ocean  breezes  swept, 

I  have  sought  you  here  and  there 
Interlaken. 

I  had  seen  in  my  soul's  dream 
Such  an  one  as  you,  yet  I 
Never  found  the  dream  come  true 
That  the  gods  did  paint  of  you; 
So  it  was  for  me  to  sigh, — 
Interlaken. 

Interlaken,  winsome  maiden, 

Mine  the  search  and  long; 
Now  I've  found  you  nestled  here, 
Jealously  I'll  guard  you,  dear, 
And  prison  you  in  song, — 
Interlaken. 


[86] 


TO  A  TYROL  CRUCIFIX 

FORLORN  and  old  and  gray,  ah  you, 

Here  in  the  Tyrol  vale, 
Where  towering  peaks  forbidding  loom, 

That  one  his  beads  may  tell. 

A  constant  torch  that  lights  the  way, 
You,  the  great  symbol,  sign 

Of  a  faith  that  counts  its  followers 
From  every  land  and  clime. 

Ah,  Crucifix,  let  none  assail, 

No  pagan  pass  to  chaff. 
Of  Virgin  worshipers  that  kneel, 

You  are  the  prop,  the  staff. 

You  are  unmoved  by  heresy, 

You  are  the  sea's  great  tide 

That  moves  a  surging  mass  of  men, 
All  near  and  far  and  wide. 

You  are  the  one  to  smile,  not  I, 

But  your  eyes  are  full  of  tears. 

You  hear  the  prayers  of  sturdy  men, 

Their  struggles  and  their  fears. 


[36] 


So,  fare  you  well,  quaint  Crucifix, 
I  shall  not  pass  this  way 

Another  time,  but  others  will, 

At  shrine  to  kneel  and  pray. 


[37] 


THE  HARVEST 

I  PLUCKED  the  first  blown  buds  of  spring, 
I  pulled  and  strewed  the  petals  wide , 
And  through  the  summer's  glow  there  was 
No  bud  but  in  my  hand  it  died. 

But  when  the  winter  came — alas ! 
By  doubts  and  fears  I  was  beset. 
Through  blinding  mists  of  agony 
I  saw — but  thistles  of  regret. 


[38] 


THE  RETURN 

I  WANDERED  in  the  fields  of  waving  stuff 

For   long — where   men  were  garnering  gold 

each  year; 

But  one  day  in  disgust  I  sought  the  path 
That  led  me  back  to  woodland's  ways  once 
dear. 

I  found  at  length  the  pool  of  Homer  clear, 
And  quaint  old  oaks  of  Keats  and  Foe  and 
Burns . 

While  yet  a  little  deeper  in  the  shade, 

I  rested  near  a  clump  of  Wordsworth  ferns. 

Oh,  classic  shades,  you  beckoned  and  I  came, 
My    heart    long   aching,   homesick    for   you 

yearned ; 
Come,   sway   me  with   the   power  you  used   to 

have, — 
The  prodigal  repentant  has  returned. 


[39] 


THE  UNIVERSAL  NOTE 

THE  Autumn  wind  blows  fitfully, 
And  sounds  of  moan  are  off  the  Sea, 
And  a  bird  is  singing  pensively. 

The  wind  is  sighing  for  leaves  all  gone, 
The  bird  because  of  her  nest  that's  shorn, — 
And  a  new  made  grave  my  heart  has  torn. 


[40] 


WHEN  POETRY  WAS  BORN 

APHRODITE,  Aphrodite,  in  the  sea  foam  white, 
Rising  from  the  mist  and  spray 

Where  the  gladsome  sea  nymphs  play 
Through  the  moonlit  night. 

Aphrodite,  Aphrodite,  in  the  sea  foam  white, 
Through  eyes  no  dancing  spray  could  dim 

Clearly  through  the  wastes  saw  him, 
A  youth  in  raiment  bright. 

She  gazed  as  fascinated  then,  sweet  Aphrodite 
there — 

Beyond  her  nymphs  who  sportive  played 
About  her  feet  and  dangling  stayed — 

To  that  far  shore  so  fair. 

And  'cross  the  dreary  watery  way  fled  Aphro- 
dite then, 

Nor  knew  not  that  her  vision  rare 
Had  caused  the  youth  to  breathless  stare. 

She  fell  at  feet  of  him. 

She  loosed  her  golden  locks;  they  drooped  in 
waving  ringlets  down 

About  her  shoulders'  classic  slope 
And  lo,  they  stirred  in  him  new  hope, 

Inspired  a  joyous  song. 

[41] 


And  sang  as  ne'er  before  this  swain  to  Aphro- 
dite dear 

On  moor,  or  mount  or  rock-ribbed  shore, 
With  tender  note  he  sang  to  her. 

The  Universe  was  lured 

From  things  that  were  too  commonplace,  too 
plainly,  sadly  trite, 

To  gaze  upon  this  singing  god 
Who  woke  the  very  sleeping  sod 

With  songs  of  love's  delight. 

L'ENVOI 
And  from  that  ancient  day  to  this 

All  youths  with  magic  lyre  rove 
To  voice  a  lover's  rarest  thought: 

All  poets  sing  of  love. 


WALTER  PATER  TO  A  BEE 

i 

OH,  busy  little  fluttering  thing  that  lives 
A  moment  only  of  the  eons  wide, 
I  would  that  I  could  with  the  flowers  abide. 

For  you  sip  honey  from  each  rose  you  see, 
And  men  look  on  all  rapturous  to  say, 
See,  see  the  luscious  honey  and  the  bee. 

While  I,  who  prate  of  grasping  pleasure  here, 
Am  sensuous  called — barbarian — and  must  fear 
The  worst  from  critics  who  but  dully  hear 

The  call  to  me  of  bird  and  bee  and  flower, 
The    chanting    of    wood    nymphs    in    trellised 

bower. 
Oh,  would  I  were  a  bee  to  sip  the  flower. 


[43] 


SORROW 

I  ASKED  the  south  wind  gently  strolling  by, 
I  begged  the  birds  all  winged  for  Heaven,  if 

they 

Could  tell  me  aught  of  sorrow;  but  a  song 
Of  cheer  came  from  the  joyous  hearted  throng. 
No  sorrow  there. 

i 

With  bees  and  flowers  the  answer  was  the  same ; 
No  sorrow  ever  in  their  midst  had  come. 
And  t'was  not  till  years  after,  when  I  said, 
Youth,  hope,  love,  joy  of  life  is  dead — 
I  sorrow  found! 


WATCHING  ANOTHER  GLEAN 

To  see  you  gather  in  the  grain, 
Beloved,  it  were  sweet  indeed; 

You  worked  while  I  in  meadows  played, 
Yours  be  the  harvest  and  the  gain. 

To  see  you  glean — did  I  not  love 

You  so,  'twould  all  my  hopes  undo — 

Yours  be  the  laurels.     Anon  I'll  sow 
A  better  seed  because  of  you. 


[45] 


LOVE   RESURRECTED 

I  SAID  my  love  was  dead,  and  so  I  bowed 

My  head  in  very  anguish  on  your  bier, 

The  perfumed  roses  all  about  me  there 
And  redolent  of  memories  so  fair. 

But  out  of  crumpled  masses — letters  burned — 
There  woke  new  love.     For  you  dear  heart 
I  yearned. 


[46] 


LAST  NIGHT 

IT  rained  last  night ;  ah,  now  I  know 

That  you  were  in  the  sobbing  rain  o'erhead, 

Again  that  rare  sweet  voice  I  clearly  heard, 
To  me,  that  voice  long  dead. 

And  soothingly  you  seemed  to  say 

Before  you  vanished  in  the  dripping  green, 

"Farewell,    dear    one,    'tis    not    for    me    love's 

day''- 
Then  all  was  clouded  dream. 

It  rained  last  night ;  ah,  now  I  know — 

E'en  though  my  life  of  all  its  joys  bereft, 

'Twas  kind  of  you  that  thus  you'd  come  and 

go— 
With  the  rain  you  came  and  left. 


[471 


THEN— AND  NOW 

i 

FORGET  you,  Love?  Ah  spare  that  query  harsh 
To  one  from  out  whose  soul  does  leap  such  fierce 

Impassioned  love  as  mine !  Ah  bid  me  stay. 

Forget  you,  Love?  Not  till  my  dying  day. 

Forget  you,  Love?  That  query  after  years 
Have  brought  their  changeful  influence  to  bear ; 
I  can  not  say — I  dare  not — but  regret 
Does  fill  me  at  the  truth.     I  did — forget! 


[48] 


FAITH 

SHE  held  his  head  between  her  hands  and  said, 
"Whate'er  betide,  beloved,  I  will  go 
With  you,  e'en  tho'  the  way  I  cannot  see, 
Nor  feel,  nor  know." 


[49] 


HOPE 

SHE  did  not  hear  his  footfall  when  she  should 
And  rumors  all  about  her  fast  did  fly ; 
Still  thought  she  to  her  arms  he'd  surely  come. 
She  would  not  cry. 


[50] 


CHARITY 

AND  when  he  came  at  last  of  others  worn, 
Her  bosom  none  the  less  she  bared  to  him, 
Forgetting  in  the  greatness  of  her  love, 
That  he  had  sinned. 


[51] 


THE  AWAKENING 

LONG  years  my  soul  in  silence  grim 

Went  on  its  way  as  souls  will  go — 

Nor  felt  the  beauty  of  the  dawn, 

Nor  heard  the  music  of  the  stars ; 
Long  years  alone! 

Long  years  alone  and  then  one  came, 
One  other  one  with  longing  eyes, 

He  pressed  his  ruddy  lips  to  mine, 

Soul  answered  soul  to  rapture  find — 
In  stars  and  dawn ! 


[52] 


RESURGAM 

You  thought  to  spurn  my  love  and  it  fell  dead, 
A  thing  of  no  account  on  which  to  tread, 
Alas  the  cruel  things  you  did,  you  said. 

But  as  the  sea  on  darkest  night  all  gray 
Is  suddenly  illumined  far  away 

By    phosphorescent    gleams    that    sparkling 
play, 

So  then  my  love  that  seems  now  rent  in  two 
Shall  ghost-like  hover  round  the  heart  of  you , 
In  quiet  hours  rise  and  flicker  too. 


[53] 


UNREQUITED 

OH  rose  that  clambers  in  my  window  there, 
With  your  deep  crimson  glow, 

How  is  it  that  you  your  beauty  rare 
On  my  dull  sense  bestow? 

Oh  Love  that  lingers  in  these  arms  awhile, 

How  like  the  rose  are  you ! 
Your  eyes  are  moist  with  unshed  tears, 

The  rose  with  a  drop  of  dew. 


[54] 


SONGS  OF  THE  NORTH 


INDIAN  LULLABY 

OH,  close  your  eyes  my  dusky  one, 

Nipissing,  Nipissing, 
As  through  the  pines  the  setting  sun 
Does  warn  us  that  the  day  is  done, 

My  Baby  Nipissing. 

The  birds  are  singing  now  no  more, 

Nipissing,  Nipissing, 
And  ne'er  a  paddle  nor  an  oar 
We  hear  upon  the  waters  clear, 

My  Baby  Nipissing. 

The  chipmunk  to  his  hole  returns, 

Nipissing,  Nipissing, 
And  fast  asleep  'neath  yonder  ferns 
Are  the  big  brown  bugs  and  fuzzy  worms, 

My  Baby  Nipissing. 

And  all  alone  the  yellow  moon, 

Nipissing,  Nipissing, 
So  close  your  eyes,  I'll  gently  croon 
That  morrow's  play  time  may  be  soon, 

My  Baby  Nipissing. 


[57] 


DESTINY 

SHE  sits  with  vision  tense  and  keen, 

The  shadows  round  her  play. 
Her  stitches  are  the  sons  of  men, 
All  fast  and  firm  she  weaves  them  in 
And  she  weaves  the  livelong  day. 

And  not  one  stitch  does  she  let  fall,— 

The  warp  must  last  alway — 
Her  stitches  are  the  sons  of  men, 
All  fast  and  firm  she  weaves  them  in 
And  her  face  is  old  and  gray. 


[58] 


AN  INDIAN  LOVE  SONG 

THE  shadows  close  around  me,  Love, 

Nepahwin, 

And   soft  is  now  the  scent  of  pine, 
But  heavy  is  the  heart  of  mine, 
Nepahwin. 

I  heard  your  paddle  light  and  clear, 

Nepahwin, 

At  early  morn  before  the  sun 
Had  struggled  through  the  trees  at  dawn, 

Nepahwin. 

And  now  'tis  night  and  shadows  green, 

Nepahwin, 

Are   flickering  in   the   water's    sheen, 
And  still  no  trace  of  you  is  seen, 

Nepahwin. 

The  shadows  close  around  me,  Love, 

Nepahwin, 

And    soft   is   now  the   scent   of   pine, 
But  heavy  is  the  heart  of  mine, 

Nepahwin. 


[59] 


THE  POET 

TO    CHARLES    HANSON    TOWNE 

ALAS,  poor  bird,  blown  from  your  woodland  nest 
To  where  great  buildings  hide  the  azure  sky , 

I  marvel  that  your  note  is  all  so  sweet 
And  in  it  is  no  murmur  nor  a  sigh; 

That  din  of  commerce  thundering  in  your  ear, 
And  roaring  trains  and  whistles  shrilly  bleak 

Have  dimmed  not  in  your  soul  the  thrush's  call, 
Or  meadows  with  their  wind-blown  daisies 
meek. 

It  is  as  if  your  spirit  still  remained 

Where  clover  blossoms  all  their  beauty  share, 

That  you  might  weave  a  song  of  hope  and  cheer 
To  keep  mere  men  from  dying  of  despair. 

Sing  on,  oh  bird  of  magic  note,  I  say, 
And  let  the  city's  famished  millions  soar 

To  where  beyond  the  money  madness  lie 

God's  fields  Elysian,  vast  and  sweet  and  pure. 


[60] 


DATE  DUE 


CAYLORD 


•4TED  IN  US. A. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  250  607  7 


